


Providence in Duet

by booktick



Series: phobos [4]
Category: The Haunting of Hill House (TV 2018)
Genre: Anxiety, Bad Decisions, Grief/Mourning, Inner Dialogue, Love/Hate, Nyctophobia, Other, POV Hugh, Sad Dad Hugh Crain, Self-Denial, Self-Destruction, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Self-Reflection, Sleep Deprivation, Sleep Paralysis, Storms, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Elements, Survivor Guilt, Why can't things ever go right for the Crains???, mentions of other Crains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-11 04:15:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17439767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booktick/pseuds/booktick
Summary: Hugh is woken up in the middle of the night.





	1. Castle of Man

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of this franchise.

* * *

Summer.

2018.

* * *

He doesn't sleep well, if at all, ever since Hill House. It's been the same since he shut the place, twenty six years of the same thing weighs on a person. He moved and moved, it was never different. He followed the same pattern over and over again. Everything had a way of...fading. Whether by time's hand or his, it faded and he would need to find a new project. He'd need to keep his hands and mind busy again.

He would get a place, buy a new bed and then he'd grow sick of it in a matter of days to weeks. Janet said that was how it had always been with him. That's why he never let his family stay in one place, always on the move, always having to find something to fix.

And there he was for who knows how many times over, in a new bed and new sheets and new paint on the bedroom walls. Nothing was old in the room except him. He had pulled an all nighter to finish the job but it was done. It had made him feel good...for a while. It usually did, if it was enough to distract him, to have time pass by. But then it'd come back. It always did. 

" _Go on without me_." floods his ears.

Hugh Crain's eyes opened wide. His hair was sticky and plastered to his cheeks. He was still in his bedroom. The fact he hadn't gone and wandered off from sleepwalking should have been a relief but it wasn't. The entire room felt far too big and empty. It must have been because it was night. Darkness could make anything look vast and empty like this. Yet, as he thought to get up for a glass of water for his dry mouth, he didn't. He couldn't. And he had no idea why he couldn't. It was just getting up, he did it all the time. 

He tried to take a deep breath but his chest was heavy. A familiar pressure sat on top, crushing his ribs. Instead, his breaths were slow and weak. His gaze is stuck to the ceiling, where a long crack drags across in a zig zag motion. He can see the flashing red digits on his alarm clock out of the corner of his eye. The power must have turned off and on, the numbers were wrong. Why couldn't he just get up...damn it...

But he laid there and laid there...and it...was like room had just stayed back and forth. Nothing had moved, not even him. Okay, no reason to panic. This had happened before. It would be okay. The dark cannot hurt anything or anyone, it's just something that happened. The weight on his chest had sunk into his insides and he could feel it on his heart. Each thump of his heart against his ribs only seemed to intensify the more he remembered it was night.

He needed to move. He needed to get up and move. Then everything would be okay and he could breathe again. He began with trying to move his fingers first but they were stiff and refused to budge. A low whimper leaves his throat, and murmurs to the unseen in the room. He recieved no answer. Of course there wouldn't be one now. He blinked slower but kept his eyes opened. It's the chill that slips up his elbows that put him in full alert mode. He begins to count in his head. The darkness stared at him. It does not blink.

It's nothing. It's nothing. 

He was exhausted and it was his imagination. If he could just go back to sleep, it'd be morning and he could see the rest of the room. He had removed the bedroom curtains for a reason, it had become a habit. He just needed to find his flashlight, that would fix this. He had tried night lights but all the bulbs died so fast. He wondered on more occasion if maybe it was just him. Maybe this is what he deserved after Hill House...

He tried to move his head instead. It remained locked in place upon his pillow, like a body in the coffin. He whimpered louder the next time, the darkness whimpered back. He grinded his teeth, tongue pressed against them. His eyes swept over the darkness, trying to find something, anything. He couldn't...see much of anything in the bedroom though. The longer he stared at it, the more his fear grew. 

All there that he could manage to see were the numbers on his alarm clock, still in the corner of his eye. He blinked away his tears, looking back up at the ceiling. It was all he had control over at the moment. His body wasn't his in these moments and that terrified him. He started to count the points of the zig zagging crack there. One, two...

" _Go on without me_." was kissed along his wrists. 

The tears stung his eyes. His third whimper is quieter than the others. He swallowed as hard as he could. A rumble grazes his ears and the patter of rain from outside was heard soon after. A storm, that had not been listed or spoken of anywhere, nothing from any of the weather channels he'd seen. It was supposed to be sunny skies all week. There couldn't be a storm just over his house, not again. Not again.

But thunder was a demon hellbent on vengeance and he listened to it howl. He knew Shirley was terrified of loud noises, he hoped there weren't storms for her at night. He hoped she wasn't stiff as a board in bed listening to one. Poor Shirl, she would hate it here. He tells himself it's different for him though. He shouldn't be so afraid of how loud a storm was after experiencing the ones at Hill House. Those had been red flags from the start and _this_ wasn't Hill House. This wasn't anywhere close to it.

Yet his tears slip and slide down his cheeks. He blinked quickly, tried to get them to stop. There was no reason to cry. He was pathetic. It was a little darkness and it wasn't Hill House. He couldn't even get through a week without letting himself get out of hand. If he just did what his doctor advised, if he took his medication...maybe she'd speak to him again.

This was why...This was why he couldn't help her. He was so focused on himself, on  _his_ problems and  _his_ fuck ups. He should be calling the kids more, hell, even seeing them and not staying up all night just because he saw a chip in the wall's paint. If he had died, Olivia would have been safe-

He blinked and the numbers from the alarm clock in the corner of his eye stopped blinking. The darkness crawled along the ceiling, never touching the crack, but it was there. He swallowed again, a burning rose in his throat. He needed to...count and breathe. Nellie said it was something Luke taught her and then she thought to teach her dear ol' Dad. There were ways of coming down from situations like these, he remembered. Olivia had even shown him a few before she...

It was just that he was always thinking too much. He always thought too much, about anything and everything. He was getting ahead of himself and it was only manifesting his anxiety into something worse. That was what he needed to remember was all. That this had nothing to do with the kids or her. This was from overextending himself again, not forgetting the thousandths of times he had done the same before tonight. That was all this was. Hill House was shut up, locked up, whatever. It was done with and he just needed to  _move on_. He had to.

A kiss to his temple follows his previous thought, and the voice echoed: "Why can't you wake up, Hugh?"

It's then that fingers run through his hair, gentle and slow. He can feel it but he knows he hasn't lifted his hand. He can't even  _feel_ his hand. It takes everything in him not to let his eyes leave the ceiling. But it isn't the alarm clock in the corner of his eye, it's her smile but not. It's blue and cracked and peeling, and _wrong_. He can taste rust on his tongue after her words are trapped in his ears.

The smile had grown closer. And he doesn't understand how he can see all of this without any moonlight. But there it was, right by his eye and he stared at the ceiling so much he had stopped blinking. If he blinked, it could all go away. He should blink. Maybe all of this was a nightmare and he just needed to wake up. Like the voice...like she said. He needed to wake up. But what if he couldn't? What if he woke up and she was gone forever? The numbers on the alarm clock flashed twice. 

Hugh opened his mouth as his voice cracked through the surface, "Liv-"

A palm pressed flat upon his forehead and a chill spread from his eyes to his toes. It was as if his entire body had been pulled up and slammed back down onto the bed. The shock was pins and needles all throughout his body. With a wince, his eyes shut and opened again, the crack on the ceiling was gone. It was fresh paint that stared back at him. Hugh tried to take a deep breath again, this time it comes out like a gasp. He ended up coughing so hard his chest burned and gut twisted.

Hands are pressed flat on the bed, warm and tingling. At least he can move them now, that's what he told himself as he forced his body to respond. Sitting up in bed is hard to do at any age for Hugh Crain. He lifted a hand, running fingers through his hair. He used the same hand to wipe his mouth off, spit stained his knuckles. He didn't even realize he had drooled. 

It still took a few more breaths before he could fully move his limbs. The movements are slow but he was able to swing his legs over the side of the bed, blanket in a lump on the floor as it slid off. He had thought he had it still over him. How did it get like that? He wiped his fave with his hand, sweat and tears smeared across his flesh. He groaned as he stood, taking one step at a time towards his bedroom door. He needed a glass of water. As he let his tongue touch the roof of his mouth, it immediately stung, the skin there felt so warm and tender. He rubbed his jaw and stumbled out of his bedroom anyway.

All of this though...it was too much without any answers. Never had any answers, that was his biggest problem in his life, in this world, wasn't it? He was never used to it. He would never be used to it. He hated Hill House, he hated it with everything he had left in him, which wasn't much to begin with he figured. He would never get back 1992 and he would never have his family again. His kids were the victims of his pride.

Hugh could still remember it all as if it had happened yesterday. He relived it every time he went to bed. Sometimes not waking up sounded better and better. Yet night turns to day and Hugh Crain wakes to another day. He shook his head and tried to shove the thoughts to the back of his head where they belonged. The rain continued to pour outside, that's all his ears hear now and this time he is relieved. Regardless of his inner turmoil or not, his aging bones do not thank him for getting up in the middle of the night. So much for Summer heat.

He filled his empty glass with water at his kitchen sink and he drank it until it was gone. He could get a glass of water without losing himself on a good day. On bad days, it's usually like this. If he could just slow his thinking down some, just get some sort of system in check, even a routine to follow...he was sure it could help him somehow. 

Hugh always wants to fix everything but never can.


	2. The Gathering Path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A familiar spirit is in this chapter :) 
> 
> I hope they seem IC??? This chapter took a while but here it is. I hope you all enjoy it.

* * *

Summer.

1992.

* * *

Eight weeks at the most. That's how long he had planned to be at Hill House. Yet here he was, dealing with mold in the walls and his family falling apart. He thought he could have moved them to Janet's, at least for a while. Liv was already there and it sounded like things were already improving for her. If the kids went, it'd give him time to work on the house more without the constant worry of his family.  It might even make things go faster. It would certainly keep his hands and his mind busy. That much he knew for certain. 

He was drained--physically and mentally. At times, like these, it all felt like too much for Hugh. He continued to think about it the later in the night it got, about Liv, about how Janet's place was safe. It was familar and safe and smaller than Hill House at the moment. He remembered that. Liv had headed there just the other day, even called in. The kids had been excited to hear from her, not so excited she was gone though. He had tried to explain to them that their mother desperately needed some time off, some time to cool down. A vacation away from vacation in a way. He wasn't sure if they understood or simply didn't want to upset him or each other but they had nodded after a while and hugged him. 

Everything had gone to shit in recent weeks. With Nell's nightmares, Liv's migraines and the mold--well, it had gotten out of hand really. He had tried to ask Mr. Dudley for help but all he had gotten was unwanted and undesired advice. Hugh had wanted to force it to the back of his head, to not think about it. Olivia hadn't wanted to go at first but after a talk, not exactly the one that was really needed, she had gone. It had been a huge sense of relief too. Liv getting away from the house, back to familiar surroundings and actually around people other than her family. It would do her a lot of good. It might even help improve her migraines, to not be around so much hectic living.

After this Summer, they'd start on their house. Maybe stay with Janet a few weeks or go to a hotel this time. It'd be done with and they could just...be again. There wouldn't be anymore running around, having to take on big projects and dealing with all of...whatever this was. It'd be different this time, he could feel it. This would change everything for them. It would be worth it in the end. It had to be. He wasn't going to let a house ruin his family. 

All he had to do was take a short breather every now and again, they all did. Just until this Fall and it'd be okay. He would rest tonight and tomorrow he'd call Liv, maybe even ask, like he wanted to, if Janet thought it'd be okay if the kids came too. It was still Summer, school wasn't for a little while and it'd probably be good to see family. Liv had sounded so happy on the phone, well, as much as he could hear over the kids. He just hoped it'd help in the end. He'd call Liv in the morning. 

As his eyelids began to drift almost shut, Hill House awoke. He had laid down on the sofa, still in his clothes, worn from the day's activities. Everything slowed down, he could feel sleep tug at him. He could have sworn he heard the front door open. The house made too much noise. Plenty of old houses made noise. It was just an old house. An old house...that had a lot of mold...and a locked door without a key. No, no, breathe. Breathe. 

His eyes shut. His eyes opened.

A tall shadow swept across the room, sticking to the walls. He had to blink a few times to understand what was happening around him. His eyebrows furrowed and lips parted, no sound left them. He tried to lift himself up, to sit up but nothing inside him moved. He felt like a weight had crushed him, a deep rooted heat started to spread through him. The tingling in his feet went to his legs and to his chest. It was a dull warmth.

He took a deep breath, what he could manage as a deep breath. It wasn't much and it didn't help. He swallowed, able to accomplish that but not much else. No reason to panic, he told himself, his muscles were sore from the day's work and he was exhausted. The darkness was just the darkness. He was going to be fine if he breathed. Maybe he should count his breaths until he could move.

As he remained there, as he remained stiff and warm, the darkness crept closer. The moonlight that had shined into the room when he first closed his eyes was no longer there, instead, in the corner of his eye he could see the clouds gathering. It was grey and it was thick, blotted out all the stars in the sky. There was no light but he could still see the darkness and the way it slithered more and more, could see his hands and legs that refused to budge. His wrapped hand, red was starting to seep through all over again. 

Fuck...fuckokay...

He tried to say the words for help but could only mouth them. Warm cheeks grew wet as his lips started to slide and slip clumsily. He lifted his tongue only for it to fall back down inside his dry mouth. It hurt to breathe, each breath was rattling around inside him as if he were just a husk. He could see the tears though, as they dripped and dripped onto his bandaged hand.

The red only seemed to get redder. 

He needed to change the wrapping. He should have gotten it checked out again. His stitches had kept coming undone ever since he got them. Steven had left the fan on by accident, he knew that but the sting remained each time he had moved his hand since and now he couldn't move it at all. He swallowed, looking away from his head and blinking quickly a few more times.

Each time he had looked away from the darkness it grew closer to him. It started to come from the ceiling and the walls, not covering anything on its' way. It wasn't out to get anything...other than him. That was how it felt anyway. He felt completely and utterly alone. He could not use tools or spray to fix it and it was _eating_ away at him. The entire room felt like it was Hill House reminding him it was still here.

He had tried so desperately to remind himself it was  _just_ a house but as the weight on his chest grew heavier and the darkness dragged itself across the room...that was getting difficult to accept. His mind was at war with itself, searching for answers when there were none, littered with questions and back and forth denial and fear. It was too much, even for Hugh Crain. One moment he'd think about all the things the kids had said, what the Dudleys had said, and what Olivia had said and start to believe. But then he'd pull back, he'd pull back and swallow his rational side because...ignorance was bliss. He wanted to know and _not_ know.

He was _so_ tired.

He had worked so hard, all of them had. He was letting his thoughts grow out of control. His fears were becoming larger than life. Hugh wondered if this was what Liv had been seeing, if this was what Nellie saw. He hoped it wasn't true. He hoped it was all a horrible misunderstanding, a nightmare that was built upon stress and new surroundings. Hill House groaned as the darkness reached Hugh's feet, hooking itself deep into his ankles. The pain shot through his entire being but, still, he could not move. Hugh could not move. Not real, not real, it couldn't be happening. 

But it's the cold that terrified him the most. He understands that as soon as the heat inside him is replaced. Flesh meets flesh as knuckles drag down his jaw. He can't see who the fingers are attached to, only that they begin to run through his hair over and over. If it was meant to be a soothing gesture, he'd have to disappoint whomever was performing the action. It was like it came out of the darkness, out of no where. Not real, not real.

Hill House was not alive. There weren't any ghosts. And he was...really falling apart. He tried to count his breaths. Why was his chest aching all over? Count, Hugh, count. One...two...three...

" _Poor Hugh_ ," a voice cooed into his ear, " _Poor, poor, useless Hugh._ Such a foolish little man with foolish little thoughts in his foolish little head." The voice's tone, it sounded like honey, warm and smooth and  _just right_. But the words were...unkind and cold and  _wrong_.

"You're all tied up inside," the darkness hummed, "All fevered and all a panic on the outside too. No room for growth, no room for peace."

And it hummed and hummed. Until the walls began to bang, louder and louder, until it too faded away and it was just him and the voice again, trapped in limbo. He swallowed, his mouth had gone dry all over again. He wasn't sure if it had ever  _not_ been dry. His tears didn't help, only made it harder blink away. His voice remained trapped in his throat turned tomb.

"No wonder you're fizzlin' on out the front door, _sweetheart_."

Hugh's eyes went side to side, trying to find the source. Anything that would fix this. He had never heard this voice. He...He hadn't. He couldn't. It was just a bad nightmare. That must have been it. This was a nightmare or his grogginess getting to him or...or...he didn't want to believe. In  _any_ of it. This couldn't be real. Things like _this_ doesn't happen to families like  _theirs. _

" _But no more_." The fingers pat his head, an arm came into view as it slid over his shoulder, the hand slipped into his shirt. 

He could  _feel_ it. He could feel the fingers as they pressed against his chest, not at all warm or wanted, instead they were cold and made his skin crawl. He wanted to cry out for Liv, to hold onto her and fly away like they were supposed to. Yet he was stiff as a corpse, the darkness all around him by now. His breaths were softer and softer, until he could barely hear them. A kiss was placed to his temple, just as cold and  _wrong_ as the words and all the other touches. A soft laugh followed the kiss to his temple, so hushed like his breathing now. The pain inside intensified. And what _felt_ like lips gave another kiss as they pressed into his hair.

"You have to wake up," he could see something now, red curls coming into view from the corner of his eye, "You take that topsy turvy little head of yours and wake up, Hugh Crain,"

The arm and curls are gone as they pull away from him. It's nothing but him and the darkness again but the voice...the voice was  _not_ gone. It was far, far from it. He tried again, to call out for anyone, his voice cracked through the surface. 

"No...Liv..." he tried and tried, "No."

The voice continued though, right in his ears, like nothing else could sneak inside there anymore, "And you don't ever have to worry about those little ones or Olivia ever again." Suddenly, arms came and wrapped around his head, smothering Hugh Crain for all that he had. The life being choked out of him. Hugh shut his eyes for a second time.

"Ah!" He cried out.

Hugh opened his eyes and, at first, he isn't sure he's awake at all. The moonlight shined in, lighting up the room right away for him. He looked, and his hands are touching a small set of arms. It takes him a moment to pull his hands away, to remember how to move his limbs at all. He looked again and it's not red curls in his view but dark ones, like Liv's. Shirl, it was just Shirley. Oh thank God, it was just Shirley. Her expression though, it looked...it looked a lot like his he figured. Confused and afraid. 

"I-I'm so sorry-" Shirley tried to apologize. 

Hugh had to blink a few times, quickly, to get the sleep to fall away. He swallowed, tongue lifting only to find his mouth dry and lips cracked. He doesn't understand. Was it really just a nightmare? Things are okay now. It was just a nightmare and things would be be okay. He woke up. He fixed it. He shook his head, immediately going from focus on himself back to his family. 

"No, I-I'm sorry," Hugh let out a breath of relief.

He must have fell asleep. It was only a nightmare, an awful, awful nightmare.


End file.
